Year || 503 Season || Winter Temp || -10℉ (-23℃) to 55℉ (12℃) Weather || Winter has left a blanket of pristine white snow in many parts of Novus. Only Solterra remains mostly untouched by the season's frosted hold, but even the desert may feel a cold breath of wind now and then. With Winter now settled across the continent, dreams of Spring dance in the minds of many.

He stands just outside of the court, his eyes heavy, his heart broken. Already he misses his family, the lovers he has left behind and the children that will never know where he is. And yet, there is something freeing about being here now. He feels almost unencumbered. It is as if a heavy weight has lifted from his shoulders at the knowledge that no one here knew him. No one here knew that he was once a king, a failed king at that. Here, he was a nobody. He was just another individual who had wandered into this court seeking sanctuary.

His chest heaves with breath as he comes to a halt. Eyes scan horizon and he can see the rising of the sun. A new day as begun and for even just a moment, he closes his eyes to say a small prayer to Brighton. He knows the god does not rule here, but he still worships the god as much now as he did when he was nothing but a boy. He owes his magic to Brighton and that is a gift he can never repay.

When his prayer comes to a close, he takes a step forward his head held high. His body exudes confidence, even if he is worried he will not find acceptance here. He supposes that any form of welcome might be better than a straight up rejection. Anything was better than wandering for a lifetime.

euryale calantha, after several weeks of adaptation, has beautifully acclimatized to the court life of terrastella; she so loved the thrashing, fervid oceans. the tropical rhythm of lively beachside life, clamouring with the ideals of lovely dusk. she has dreamt dreams every night, and each night, she is accompanied by the restless, breathing of the violent seas - the dark seas, she has come to adore, cherish and love. she has watched each sunset, in the silken delicacy of her bedroom. with the French windows thrown wide, with the beach-song of entice and red sunlight, filling the chambers of her bed.

after her chance meeting with the man on the beach, and several other mesmeric faces come to pass, euryale has grown accustomed to the taste and scent of novus - though, still hungry and eager to learn, she succumbs to wanderlust yet again. leaving the lavished folds of her terrastella bedroom, to pursue the gilded rays of daylight out into the open filigree of the courtyard. her crimson curves, soaked in the lush femininity of vermillion and ivory, moves like new moons upon red, violent seas. in her serpents' allure, they shimmer softly in the sun; rosy-flesh, bold against the singing white webs of her - manifesting, in the siren of her scarlet profile.

her silhouette is a slender thing, full of sleek angles, as it breaks the golden-light in their sylph-like invitations and stops before the image of a bay stallion, with heavy eyes and a hooded stare. an aura of confidence emanates from his profile, and for a moment, Euryale wonders if he is of royalblood. she approaches him with curiosity, an inky smile lacing cherry mouth. syllables, falling from her lips in silky promise.

This place is far different than what he was ever used to. The people here live in homes with beds and doors and windows. He wonders briefly what it might be like to indulge in such material things. Would he enjoy it? Would it even be comfortable? There was something comforting about sleeping under the stars and amongst the earth that he so loved and cherished. He wondered if he might grow to like these things, or if his likes would be more suited for the life of a wandering. And yet, Rhone yearns for others. He desires companionship, friendship, perhaps even love should it find him. In order to have those things, he must adapt to this new life he was beginning…including beds and houses and windows and doors.

But there is a noise and it catches the bay’s attention. His eyes turn to rest on the female that approaches. He’s seen others as brightly colored as her, but it’s been some time. Most of those he’s encountered have been plain. Looking at himself, he must seem a boring shade of grey against her bright, bold colors. But he says nothing about these things, for that would be rude.

He turns to better face her, his solemn eyes falling on her own as she speaks her greeting. Her voice is soft, soothing even, and it reminds him of Ariannah. But he dare not dwell on that thought, for it was bound to make his heart ache. He was not here to draw attention to his aches and pains, but to meet new people and try to integrate himself into the life of Novus.

He steps closer to her and offers her a soft smile with a steady dip of his head in greeting. "Greetings." His words are gruff, speaking of his life of hardships and pain. And yet, there is a sense of hope buried within them. Hope that one day, he might be something great. "My name is Rhone." He tries to relax his body posture, trying his best no to appear threatening. He’s a small thing, taking after his mother’s side of the family. But even the tiniest of beings can be the mightiest of individuals. "I do hope I am not disturbing you or your court. I am nothing but a wanderer looking for a place to call home." He comes in peace. He might have been a king in his last home, but here, he’s just looking to survive. Perhaps fate had something else in store for her. Perhaps Brighton had something waiting for him if he could just be patient and trust him.

euryale, basks in the aureate light of new-coming sunrise; the dawn hues, paints its sharp, golden warmth upon the crimson flesh of her silk fur. the dawn hues, shadows her curves in an ambiance of orange and bright, sneering golden. euryale, herself, has tasted both the comforts of materialism and the giving nature of the forest. she still remains far distant to the comforts of materialism, preferring the wildness of the forests, to empires gilded in gold and glamourous wealth and seduction. only the feral earth, in all its wild splendor may truly seduce her lawless heart.

only the mountains and the earth and the sky, had lay lavish to her once-empire. only the mountains, the earth and the midnight sky could ever satisfy the intensity and sate the hunger of her wanderlust. bending, the cravings of her lupine thirst, with each howl of need, and wicked adoration; with every night, spent hunting. hunting. hunting. running free, beneath the begging silver of relestless moons - with solitude, as her only religion. even so, she has learnt to appreciate the comforts that which terrastella provides, the warmth of its giving ambiance and gentle nurturing.

euryale has always been a private, withdrawn individual, preferring, the silence of the woods over the cajolery of companionship. even now, she is a solitary soldier - all lithe crimson, webbed in smooth ivory - purring, against the sensuous backdrop of the beautiful seasides of terrastella's palace. it is with distinct, feline curiosity that euryale regards him with. she watches him, carefully, following the words across his lips. her gaze, follows the man, intently; shadowing, the curl of his mouth, as they pull upward into a benevolent and courteous smile. her thick, obsidian lashes unfurls into smooth, black cresents upon her pale, porcelain cheekbone. she nods once in acknowledgement. this man emanates of a humble calm, and euryale quietly appreciates the calmness of him.

"My name is euryale.
i'm sure Terrastella is happy to have you,
Rhone."

Despite the vibrancy of her coat, there is something calming about the mare in front of him. She seems pleasant enough, welcoming even. Rhone has seen it all. He has seen some that are quick to drive you out without even bothering to get your name or your intentions. Then there are others that are far too welcoming, letting just about anyone and everyone in without ever asking a question. Rhone had always been more on the cautious side, but not rude. When he had been king, he was very open for newcomers, so long as they had pure intentions. If looked for, Euryale would only find good intentions with Rhone.

She gives her name with a soft smile and Rhone, despite the self-loathing that he feels, cannot help but return the kind gesture. She seems open and welcoming and that helps to ease his natural nervousness about meeting new people. "I should hope to prove my worth, in time." He wasn’t quite sure how he would manage to do that, but he would make every effort to try. He had experience in leadership and war – but he preferred peace to battle.

What Rhone was not good at was relationships. It is ironic that this would be his weakness, despite his longing for that fairy-tail romance. He longs for that lasting relationship that incorporates love and mutual respect. He wants that life – a beautiful lover, a family that he can call his own, and yet…that is exactly what he is not good at. Two long-term relationships and five children later – Rhone has nothing to show for this. Perhaps Terrastella would offer him the life he so desperately wants and cannot seem to achieve.

He looks up at the pink mare, his eyes soft. "Tell me about this place – it’s so different than what I am used to." Between the horses of every color and the buildings and dwellings, things were so different. But Rhone is not naïve enough to think that this land is free from the same things that tore his last home apart – greed, jealousy, and power. Perhaps Terrastella is no different than every other place.

The fabric of your flesh, pure as a wedding dress
Until I wrap myself inside your arms I cannot rest
The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound
I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground

she unfurls. her curves were a song. rising like violence before the maw of a resting dragon. before him, her posture eases into serene placidity. moving into her snakes, like darkwater moving into soft earth. when she moves, her sensuous serpents, unfurls with her; lithe, inked in their bold, cerulean filigree. coiling, violently, about her hips in a cascade of wild and writhing scales. they crawl upon her with each caress. twisting, in their graceful endeavour. moving with her as she moves with them, in turn. sunlight roams across her physique like reaching fingertips. dappling, the blood hue of her scarlet curves in a flood of orange fire. lifting the wild ivory of her fur, in a tangled web of drifting light and rippling reflections.

how she flashes before the daylight; every red of her drips of carmine warmth. she flashes hotly before the honeyed heat of the sun. she is a bright red moon, against the backdrop of sunlight. brighter than the smooth darkness of his swarthy, bay frame - the deep, rich chocolate skin of him - that, too, caught the sensual rays of morning light; absorbing their gold with every inhale, and exhale of breath. she watches him, closely. close enough to count the sigh of his lungs.

she wants to remember the gentleness in her life, yet there is no such tenderness to remember by. her life had been of violence. of bloodlust. of war. love has never served her. though she is a creature of fire and passion, relationships fulfilled upon the basis of pure love, were meaningless to a woman of predatory nature. perhaps, deep down the wolf in her yearned to find her mate (just as we all crave that inner calling from the soul); some creature, as feral and untamed as she, to love and make hers; yet, it is of a different breed of hunger. she has never found that sense of yearning in an individual, and is thus content to carry on in her solitary ways. she prefers to hunt, alone. untethered by raw emotions.

her gaze flicks upon him, fixing the softness of his gaze with the fire-blood of hers. her breath spills out in a warm wave. curling mist-like against her sleek, porcelain fangs.

"with perseverance, i'm sure you'll achieve. as for terrastella - these lands are governed by the king, asterion. he could tell you more than i ever could."

Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers
Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters
A man who's pure of heart and says his prayers by night
May still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright

Perhaps he is a strange breed. Perhaps many have never truly looked for their life partner. He thought he had found it in Ariannah and then in Dierdre. He thought he had the fairy tale life: mate, children, kingdom. And yet, Rhone had somehow managed to fuck it all up. He’d thrown away nearly everything that had been given to him. His mates were nowhere to be seen, the same for his children, and he was no longer king of his castle. Here, in Novus, he was just a simple bay stallion, trying to fit in. Trying desperately to find his niche.

His eyes rest softly on hers, not missing the way the serpents upon her hip move as she does. They are threatening, but it hardly gives off a threatening vibe when she is as brightly colored pink as an evening sunset. Even her fangs do not phase him. He wonders, briefly, if she is supposed to be scary. Was she supposed to be intimidating? It really doesn’t matter, he surmises.

He asks her about this place, of Terastella and really of Novus as well. He’s hoping to perhaps learn about the history here and the people. He wants to know who rules the lands here and about what Gods they serve. He has so many questions and he’s practically sitting on the edge of his seat! But then, she answers him and her answer is anti-climactic. He feels the way he lets out his air and his shoulders slump in a sigh.

He tries not to be rude, because Rhone has never been rude – his mother taught him better than that. But he cannot help the disappointment that washes over him as she defers his question to someone named Asterion…who he surmises is the king of Terastella. "I do not need the whole history. I just want to know what I’m walking into." Was he a kind king? Did he protect his citizens. Rhone was never a perfect king, but he tried the best that he could.